


Hanging by a Thread

by Jarino



Series: Leigh Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Duelling, F/M, Guilt, Healing, Injury, Major Character Injury, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarino/pseuds/Jarino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing Hawke severely wounded by the Arishok, Fenris is reminded of how much he has failed her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanging by a Thread

Weak was not a word Fenris associated with Hawke. Though she wasn’t exactly a brutish warrior type, she had a tendency to enter combat with unrestrained ferocity and always walked away laughing. She was known for darting headfirst into battle, weaving her way between opponents and slashing away at their weak points with incredibly dexterity, and while she didn’t always get away unscathed, her injuries were usually minimal. Seeing her like this, though, was like a slap in the face. It left a heavy weight sitting in his chest as a lump formed in his throat.

The beginning of the duel hadn’t gone nearly as horribly as he might have imagined. She’d managed to avoid most of the Arishok’s swings and lunges and was even getting in a few hits of her own. But she’d lost her footing. Just barely – in any other situation, it wouldn’t have made a difference, but the small faltered movement had been enough of a chance for the Arishok to strike.

He took his massive sword, stabbing it clean through Hawke’s stomach – tearing through the leather armor as though it were paper. To everyone’s horror, he lifted the blade and she slid down its surface until her torso met the hilt of the sword. Letting out a choking gasp, blood spilled from her mouth and she shakily tried to raise a hand.

Swinging his weapon, she slipped off of the blade as he cast her aside, most likely instilling more damage in the process. She let out a series of coughs, more blood splattering on the ground before her. One of her hands was pressed beneath her; most likely applying pressure in the hopes of keeping her organs intact. Her breathing heavy and uneven, she attempted to push herself to her feet, her arms shaking the whole way. A sound of agony escaped her throat despite herself and she winced, desperate to keep herself together.

The Arishok made as if to rush her, but just as it seemed like he would go in for the killing blow, she pulled out a miasmic flask, shattering it against his feet. He froze where he stood, and though the effects would be over in mere moments, it was enough of an opportunity for her. Springing herself to her feet despite the pain, she flung herself at the Arishok, daggers at the ready. Both of her weapons lodged themselves in his chest, the momentum toppling him to the ground. With great ferocity, she dug one of her daggers into his heart, twisting the blade deeper and deeper to ensure it met its mark.

When it seemed he’d finally ceased breathing, she let out a relieved sigh before it transitioned into another groan of pain. With great effort, she managed to get herself onto her feet and addressed the crowd.

“Well…” she breathed heavily, clutching her side as she staggered. “I’d say that went well.”

And then she’d collapsed.­

The room was silent for mere moments before the nobles began swarming her. Gritting his teeth, Fenris cut a path through the inane crowd of people that separated him from her. He pushed them aside roughly, intent on reaching her. Anders was close behind him, and once they’d gotten past the insistent group of onlookers, he immediately dropped to his patient’s side.

He’d already begun pulling mana to his hands, the soft blue glow reaching out to Hawke’s wounded flesh. His brows drew together in concentration as he worked to keep her from losing any more blood. Fenris, meanwhile, stared at Anders’ hands with intense focus. He’d never cared for the man before; loathed him, in fact, but at the moment he couldn’t care less about his petty hatred. Hawke needed the mage’s help if she was to survive.

Sweat began dripping down Anders’ forehead, his teeth gritting together as he strained himself. Fenris could see the signs that his mana was depleting and offered the mage a lyrium potion, holding it out to him until he took notice. “You have to help her,” he uttered quietly, his eyes focused on Hawke’s prone form.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Anders bit back irritably, but upon seeing Fenris’ distraught face, immediately reined in any other retorts. Wordlessly, he nodded and took the potion with appreciation, swiftly downing its contents.

With the assistance of the lyrium, he was able to work more quickly, and though Hawke’s armor was still soaked with blood, the exposed flesh gradually began to knit together. He continued working, his attention directed towards mending her internal injuries now that he no longer had to worry about her bleeding out.

The crowd, meanwhile, continued to stare openly at the scene before them, with only the occasional mumble amongst themselves. Fenris wished they would just leave them alone, but for the most part, was able to ignore their presence; opting to fixate on the movement of Hawke’s eyelids as she dreamt. Her face was no longer scrunched up in anguish, which was a good sign, but the remorse that filled his throat had yet to dissipate in the slightest.

Though he had nothing to do with the arrangement of the duel – she had agreed readily for Isabela’s sake – he couldn’t help but feel guilty seeing her like this. It only served to remind him that she was not as invincible as he had previously believed, and that he had done his own part in causing her pain. He was well aware of the look of hurt she’d worn when he left her estate, yet he forced himself not to dwell on it. It was better this way; that’s what he initially told himself, at least. He was uncertain, inexperienced, and had difficulty interacting with people, if he was to be honest.

Any confidence or skill he might have shown during their night together were purely the result of instinct and luck. And when his troubled past was also thrown into the mix, well…it certainly didn’t seem like the kind of thing she needed to be tied down to. Yet as he sat there, watching her in such a state of vulnerability, he couldn’t just pretend like he didn’t care about her.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the blue glow from Anders’ hands began to fade away. Wiping his brow, he let out a soft sigh of relief. “Well, the worst of it is over now…I’ll need to work on her more later, but for now, it should be safe to move her…”

“Understood,” Fenris said with a brief nod. Carefully, he bent down to gather the woman into his arms, mindful not to jostle her too much. When it felt he had a proper hold, he got to his feet, with Anders following suit.

Varric and Isabela shuffled ahead, clearing them a path through the crowd, each of them glancing back at Hawke every so often. When they reached the doors to the chamber, however, they ended up crossing paths with Meredith and Orsino. They stuttered to a halt, taking a look at the group before them.

“Is it…over?” Meredith asked hesitantly, glancing further into the chamber.

“The Champion saved us!” one of the nobles shouted gleefully.

“Praise the Champion of Kirkwall!”

More cries of joy were heard throughout the hall, which were met with a distasteful look from the Knight-Commander.

“Unfortunately…” Anders cut in. “She is rather out of commission at the moment, and really needs to return home for some proper rest…”

Meredith glared openly at the mage, and for once, Fenris found himself hoping she _wouldn’t_ take him away to the Circle. Leigh wasn’t out of the water yet, after all. After a long period of silence, she seemed to come to some sort of acceptance before stepping out of their path and gave a small, curt nod.

Fenris returned the gesture, staring at her evenly before following the others out of the room.

\-----

Hawke’s companions sat in the living room of her estate, each staring at the floor in contemplation. After bringing her back home, Anders had spent more time tending to her injuries, ensuring that any traces of internal bleeding were dealt with and mending any lingering tears in the process.

When he finally emerged from the bedroom, he looked utterly exhausted. Everyone looked up at him expectantly and he let out a deep sigh. “She’ll be fine…so long as she properly rests for the next few weeks…Maker willing, she’ll actually have some sense and stay in bed, but that’s probably just wishful thinking…” Releasing another groan, he slumped down into a chair, massaging his temples.

Fenris glanced in the direction of the stairwell. He knew he ought to let her rest, but he felt the need to see her at least once before he left…

As he was debating what to do, Isabela seemed to voice his thoughts for him. “Could we go up and see her? Not that I don’t trust your word, but I’d really like to know she’s okay…”

Anders responded with another low sigh. “Sure, fine, whatever…just don’t expect her to be responsive; I gave her a pretty healthy sleeping draught for the pain…” He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes glazy and unfocused. It was likely he was going to nod off himself at any given moment.

Fenris stared at him for a long moment, considering if there was a way to properly show his appreciation, before deciding against it and heading up the stairs instead.

By the time he reached her room, Hawke’s other companions were already gathered around her bed. The blankets had been pulled up to her chin, hiding whatever damage had been done, but at least the color had restored to her face.

“Maker…” Isabela muttered. “Why didn’t she just let them take me? She could have avoided all this…It’s all my fault, after all…”

“It is,” Fenris uttered simply, not looking away from Hawke’s body. He was merely stating the facts; he wasn’t really in the mood to get into another argument at the moment.

They all stood there for a while, staring down in relative silence until everyone began to trickle out. In the end, Fenris remained, pulling up a chair next to Hawke’s bed. He stayed awake Maker knows how long until he eventually drifted off to sleep.

\-----

“If this is the sight that greets me upon waking, perhaps I should get fatally wounded more often.”

Hazily, Fenris blinked his eyes open, groggily gazing up at the source of the voice. From her spot on the bed, Hawke was grinning at him, her head tilted playfully.

“I’d rather you didn’t. I can’t imagine it will be easy to get the bloodstains out of the Viscount’s carpet,” he deadpanned. She gave a small snort of amusement.

“But wouldn’t that make for a delightful caper? Bleeding all over the nobility’s imported rugs just to spite them? Why, I think their reactions alone would be worth the price of admission!”

He chuckled despite himself, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It disappeared soon enough, and his typical mask of neutrality was in place once more. A long, somewhat awkward silence stretched between them and he turned his gaze to the floor. After a while of contemplation, he attempted to speak. “Hawke, I…”

“I’m beginning to think you don’t know my first name…” she uttered nonchalantly. At his pause of confusion, she added slyly, “Unless you’re just avoiding it for the sake of politeness, in which case, you needn’t bother. You’ve been inside me, after all.”

She’d said the comment with a smug grin, but after a moment for the words to set in, regret worked its way into her expression. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That was unworthy of me…”

“No…” he said with a sigh. “I deserved it.”

Silence filled the room once more, with each of them avoiding the other’s eyes.

“I…should let you rest,” Fenris muttered eventually, rising from his seat.

She glanced up at him, her lips pressing together firmly before her gaze flicked to the side. “If you say so…”

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her for a moment. Her attention was still directed away from him, which gave him the courage to speak the next few words. “Sleep well…Leigh,” he said quietly.

Turning his back to her, he left before he could see her expression.

**Author's Note:**

> Fenris is probably one of the most difficult characters I've ever written...if only because I want to do him justice. 
> 
> This drabble has also been sitting in my WIPs for quite some time. I had no idea where it was going, and spent a great deal of time researching stab injuries in preparation for it. As a dual-wielding rogue, realistically, it would have been next to impossible for her to best the Arishok, and add to that a stab wound to the stomach? I had to really stretch to come up with a plausible conclusion to the duel.


End file.
